


The Crown Jewels

by Angelci5



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:14:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelci5/pseuds/Angelci5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie and Doyle get a day off...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crown Jewels

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008

_Lead me not into temptation_... Doyle thought wryly as he trudged across the sand, his gaze on Bodie’s arse as his partner walked ahead of him. Not for the first time that morning, he wondered why he’d agreed to this excursion.

They’d been given a precious day off, their first in three weeks, by a satisfied Cowley for the successful completion of a highly sensitive operation. It had been nearly two in the morning by the time they’d left HQ.

“How about a trip to the coast?” Bodie had suggested, as they’d headed out to the car park.

“Bit late, isn’t it?”

Bodie had given him a withering look. “I mean tomorrow.”

“It's tomorrow now,” Doyle pointed out.

“Get a bit of sun and sea air...”

“It’s bound to rain,” said Doyle.

“Nah, it’s gonna be hot again, apparently.”

“When did you get time to listen to the forecast?” Doyle asked.

“Overheard a couple of plod mention it earlier. So what d’you say?”

Tempted to spend twenty-four hours sleeping, Doyle had decided he deserved a day by the sea and that he could successfully combine the art of sun-bathing with catching forty winks. He might even manage to read a few pages of his book, which had been sitting neglected on his bedside table for the last month. “Yeah, alright... but you’re driving,” he told Bodie.

Briefly, he’d considered the possibility that his exhaustion had robbed him of all common sense. He and Bodie spent too much time together. They were Cowley’s best agents, they worked well as a team with an attuned sixth sense that gave them an extra edge. But recently they seemed to always be together even when they were off-duty, and Doyle wasn’t sure that was healthy... Especially as increasingly he found himself wanting to throw Bodie up against the nearest wall and shag him senseless. A day at the beach would be fraught with temptation.

Still, at least Cowley, in theory, would be less likely to change his mind and call them back in if they weren’t in London.

His partner, in high spirits, had picked him up from his flat that morning and they’d driven down to Camber Sands.

Having parked the car, they’d spent the last fifteen minutes, at Bodie’s insistence, making their way along the huge expanse of golden sandy beach, weaving in and out of sunbathers whilst he sought the perfect spot for them. It was late morning and already the sun was hot, beating down from its cloudless sky.

“How much further?” Doyle demanded, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. The view of Bodie’s derriere could be recompense for only so long. “Thought this was going to be a relaxing day at the beach, not a training exercise for the bloody Foreign Legion!”

Bodie merely cast him a glance over his shoulder and kept on walking.

“And you said it'd be quiet midweek,” Doyle carried on. “You call this quiet?”

“It’s not that bad,” Bodie called back to him. “Could hardly expect the place to ourselves on a day like this, could we?”

Five minutes later, Bodie finally stopped and looked about. “This'll do,” he said, turning around where he stood and double-checking their immediate area was to his satisfaction before dropping his sports bag on the sand.

Doyle dropped his own bag and put his hands on his hips. “About time,” he muttered.

Bodie lifted his sunglasses and looked directly at him. “You’d be the first to moan, Doyle, if we had screaming kids or a bickering couple right next to us.”

Not willing to admit it, Doyle ignored him and looked out to sea. It was glistening in the sunlight, and a few people were paddling in the shallow waves.

He turned back towards Bodie, who, sunglasses back in place, was undoing his shirt and shouldering it off. Doyle started toeing his boots off, trying but failing to ignore Bodie undressing beside him. The trainers were taken off next and emptied of the mini dunes which had built up inside them, and then the socks, which were stuffed inside the trainers.

Shrugging out of his own shirt, Doyle kept his eyes pinned on the horizon as Bodie undid the top button of his trousers, pulled down the zip and hooked his thumbs under the waistband.

Grateful for his sunglasses, Doyle’s line of vision was drawn magnetically to Bodie’s groin as it was revealed.

And his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

Bodie was wearing a pair of extremely brief, white swimming trunks which left virtually nothing to the imagination.

All attempts at discretion were forgotten. “You’re not wearing those?” Doyle blurted incredulously before he could stop himself.

“Why not? Nothing wrong with ‘em,” Bodie replied indignantly, folding his trousers and chucking them into his bag.

“Why not? You’ve got to be joking! Because...” Doyle tried to avoid glancing back down at the specific area in question, but it was impossible. “Well... because you can bloody see what religion you are, Bodie!”

To his amazement Bodie just laughed. “We _are_ on a beach!” he said, pulling a towel out of his bag. “What are you wearing then? No, don’t tell me, you’ve got a pair of long-johns to protect your renowned modesty.”

“Course not, but what I’m wearing won’t get me arrested, unlike those!” Doyle glared at the gossamer fabric stretched around Bodie’s impressive crotch, then instantly realised this was a mistake and hurriedly looked away.

“Well, I never had you down as the demure type,” Bodie said, an amused look on his face. “Get ‘em off then, let’s see what Raymond Whitehouse considers appropriate beach wear.”

Feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious, not to mention extremely distracted by Bodie standing there in almost all his glory, Doyle undid his jeans and peeled them off to reveal a pair of short, fitted, green shorts.

“Oh, very nice and decent,” Bodie teased, admiring his partner’s swimwear far longer than was strictly necessary. Then, with a flick of his wrists his towel was laid out on the sand and Bodie dropped down on top of it, his head resting on his folded arms. “There’s sun cream in the bag, do me back, will you?”

“No way, mate, you can do your own.”

“What?” Bodie sounded offended. “Can’t reach me back, can I?”

“You’ll have to go without then,” replied Doyle firmly, carefully laying his towel down to avoid getting any sand on it. “There’s no way I’m making a show of myself in public, rubbing sun cream on you.”

Bodie propped himself up on his forearms and looked at Doyle. “You ever had sunstroke?”

Doyle shook his head whilst brushing all the sand, which had inexplicably gathered, off his towel.

“A couple of days after I first got to Africa, a few of us had a game of cricket, just to pass the time, you know...”

Doyle rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and continued to brush at his towel, which seemed to be somehow accumulating even more sand.

“Anyway, it was hot, wasn’t it, so I took my shirt off to play,” continued Bodie. “I spent the following night and day in bed, feverish and throwing up. All because of the sun. And I lost a day’s pay. So stop being a pillock and do my back.” He reached sideways and delved in his bag, finally pulling out a tube of Ambre Solaire and chucking it towards his partner who caught it one-handed.

“Well, this is hardly the Congo, but I take your point...” Doyle grudgingly agreed. “And Cowley would do more than dock our wages if we were off sick with sunstroke.”

Resolving to be as businesslike as possible, Doyle opened the sun cream and squirted some onto Bodie’s back. He briskly rubbed it in as efficiently as possible, trying to ignore the feel of the skin and muscles over broad shoulders beneath his hands.

“There you go, done,” said Doyle firmly, screwing the cap back on the tube.

“What about my legs?”

“You can do them yourself!”

“Go on, Doyle, I’m nice and comfortable here, be a mate.”

Doyle wondered about his sanity as he took the cap off the tube once again, and squirted the cream onto Bodie’s thighs. As he vigorously tried to rub the cream through the hairs on Bodie’s legs, it was impossible for him to ignore the perfectly muscled buttocks, gift wrapped in thin, silky fabric, and the tantalising hint of shadow in the middle.

Doyle could only pray that Bodie would stay away from the sea; he had no doubt those trunks would turn see-through when wet.

His hand moved excruciatingly close to Bodie’s balls, almost as though it was being pulled towards them by an invisible force. Doyle dragged it away, down towards the safety of a knee and then a calf, before repeating the exercise on the other leg.

Finally it was over, and Doyle tossed the tube back into the bag with relief.

“Cheers mate. Want me to do you?” Bodie looked up at Doyle, seemingly innocent, although it was difficult to tell through the tinted glass.

“Nah, I think we’ve pushed the realms of public decency to the limit already, don’t you?” Doyle lay down on his back and gazed at the sky, strangely aware that Bodie’s gaze was still on him.

oOo

Whilst Bodie appeared to doze, Doyle considered going for a dip. The water looked tempting, but if he went in Bodie might join him, and he didn’t want to risk putting his theory about Bodie’s trunks to the test.

So he’d stay put, get a bit of a tan. He reached over to grab the sun cream and squeezed some liberally over his chest. Rubbing it in across his shoulders, arms and stomach, he glanced down at Bodie. Sunglasses still in place, Doyle could only assume the eyes beneath them were shut. He continued with the sun cream down his legs to the tops of his feet, and then flopped back on to his towel.

“What about your face?”

Doyle whipped his head round to find he was mere inches away from Bodie’s face… he need only to stretch slightly and he could kiss him full on that gorgeous mouth...

He dragged his thoughts back to what Bodie had said. “What about it?” Doyle asked.

“You haven’t put any stuff on it, you’ll burn.”

“Christ, you’re like an old woman,” Doyle complained, but he sat up again and after rubbing some cream between his hands, proceeded to smooth it onto his face.

“Satisfied?” he asked, as he lay back down and closed his eyes.

“Almost,” came the enigmatic reply.

Doyle didn’t pursue the subject, he had more important things to think about. To all outward appearances he was confident that he seemed his normal self, but beneath this façade he was feeling very tense. Here he was, lying next to Bodie, and both of them were all but naked.

Especially Bodie in those so-called bloody trunks.

They’d seen each other’s bodies before, of course. They both stripped off in the changing rooms at work, or at the gym and when they showered. But that was different, because there was always purpose and movement, a momentum to keep the danger at bay.

Now though, they were both still, undressed and lying together… like in bed... _in bed with Bodie... a big bed with Bodie sprawled naked and hard... all his for the taking_...

A dangerous tingle in his groin brought Doyle sharply back to reality. _Oh God, no_. He waited a few anxious seconds, willing it to fade away, but it showed no signs of retreating. Instead, the intensity grew as it continued to gently thrum along the length of his cock.

He needed to take action before his errant flesh and tight shorts made his private thoughts known to the whole bloody beach, including Bodie.

Eyeing the water some thirty feet away, Doyle briefly considered the possibility of Bodie following him in for a swim and thereby compounding the problem with his potentially vanishing trunks... Sod it, it was a risk he had to take.

Doyle jumped to his feet. “I’m going for a swim,” he said hurriedly, and without waiting for Bodie’s reaction, he whipped off his sunnies and sprinted towards the sea.

He leapt easily over the first few waves, before diving smoothly into the deeper surf. The water was breathtakingly cold and Doyle silently thanked the English Channel for having the perfect remedy.

Treading water a little way out, he noted with relief that Bodie had stayed put on the beach, so Doyle swam for a while, enjoying the roll of the waves and the freedom he felt, before deeming it safe to return to dry land.

Striding out of the sea, he ran his hands over the back of his head, feeling the water drip down on to his shoulders.

Getting back to his towel, he found Bodie had turned over and was propped up on his elbows facing the sea.

“Good swim?” Bodie smiled up at him.

“Yeah, very refreshing.” With Bodie’s crotch once again in full view, Doyle decided not to bother drying himself; he needed to get his line of vision away from temptation and so, still wet, he lay down carefully on the towel and closed his eyes.

“You thirsty? How about a beer?” Bodie asked.

“If you’re getting them.” Doyle opened his eyes to see Bodie was now standing over him. With the sun behind him, he was perfectly silhouetted.

“What d’you fancy, then?”

Trying hard to maintain his nonchalance, Doyle just shrugged. “Whatever you’re having.”

Lifting his head, he watched as Bodie strolled off towards the promenade, seemingly oblivious of how provocative his attire was. Doyle followed his progression and noticed the looks and glances his partner was getting from both sexes as he made his way to the cafe. _Bloody exhibitionist_.

He dropped his head back and closed his eyes again. He didn’t want to witness Bodie’s return journey, he’d only have to go for another swim. Instead, he spent a few minutes concentrating on keeping his thoughts pure and making himself relax. He listened to the gentle lapping of the waves and the distant cries of the seagulls.

He ran a palm across his chest, feeling the remaining droplets of sea water being dispersed. The sun’s rays felt hot on his skin and he had to admit that this had been a good idea of Bodie’s. It was bloody perfect here today and could give anywhere abroad a run for its money--

“Aghh!” Doyle sat up as a freezing jolt hit his stomach.

A grinning Bodie was crouched beside him, holding a can of beer there.

“For fuck’s sake, Bodie!” Feeling unnerved by the close proximity of Bodie and his barely concealed genitals, Doyle shoved the can away.

“Don’t be like that, mate,” Bodie held the can out to him.

Doyle took the proffered beer, feeling guilty for snapping. “Cheers,” he said, pulling the ring as Bodie sat back down on his towel. He took a swig and glanced across at Bodie, wanting to make amends. “So, how come you know this place, you been here before?”

“Yeah, used to come here a lot when I was a kid. Me nan lived in London, so we’d visit her during the holidays and come down here. Not bad for England, eh?”

“Not bad at all. Just need a couple of girls with us and it would be close to perfect.”

Bodie’s expression darkened. “There’s always something with you, isn’t there?” he said, an edge to his voice. “Nothing’s ever enough.” He opened his can and took a couple of gulps.

"Don't tell me you'd object to a couple of birds in bikinis lying next to us?"

“No, wouldn’t object,” Bodie lay down on his back. “We can give Louise and Jane a call later if you want, meet up with them tonight.”

The thought of going out with the girls didn’t appeal to Doyle, too much effort required and he really didn’t have the energy, but he felt obliged to show willing. “Yeah OK, we could try that new Italian place.”

He turned to see if Bodie had noticed his lack of enthusiasm, but he was still lying there, unreadable with those bloody sunglasses on.

oOo

Doyle had dropped off soon after that, and the next thing he knew, Bodie was urging him to wake up, whilst shaking him none too gently by his arm.

Doyle blinked up at him. “Whasatime?” he asked sleepily.

“Half three,” came the clipped reply. “Time to get going or we’ll get caught in traffic.” Bodie was pulling his clothes on as he spoke.

Slightly puzzled by the air of annoyance emanating from his partner, Doyle pushed himself up to his feet. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” replied Bodie, doing up his flies and not looking at Doyle.

“Don’t give me that.” Doyle scrambled about for his jeans and pulled them on, wincing at the grains of sand getting trapped against his skin. “That’s what birds say when they’re sulking… You run out of sun cream or something?”

For a split second, Bodie looked as though he might reply, but then he just threw his towel into his bag, picked up the empty beer cans and headed off down the beach in the direction of the car-park, without a word.

Doyle pulled on his shirt, picked up his boots and socks in one hand, and his bag in the other, and started the long trek back along the enormous stretch of sand. “Where’s a bloody camel when you need one,” he muttered to himself.

oOo

Bodie had remained quiet in the car on the drive back to London and Doyle had been happy to doze in the passenger seat.

He’d been dropped off at his place with terse instructions to be at Bodie’s by eight. They would then pick up the girls and go for dinner.

Now showered and shaved, Doyle checked his reflection in the mirror. He’d chosen a white cotton shirt and pale-olive moleskin trousers to best show up the light tan he’d acquired today.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

oOo

“The girls can’t make it,” Bodie announced, letting Doyle into his flat. He too had chosen a white shirt for this evening, which he was wearing with tight, blue cords. “We can still go out if you want or we could just stay here… I’ve got beer and whisky, and we could get a Chinese or something?”

Taking off his jacket, Doyle followed Bodie through to the living room, getting a waft of expensive aftershave. He was glad to note that Bodie’s earlier mood seemed to have passed.

“Yeah, Chinese sounds good.” Doyle flopped down on the big sofa. “You say something about whisky?” he smiled up at Bodie.

Bodie grinned and went off to the kitchen, soon returning with two glasses and a bottle.

“Here we go, my son.” He thrust one of the glasses at Doyle, before pouring them both an extremely generous measure and putting the bottle on the coffee table.

“Bloody hell, Bodie, we’ll be unconscious by nine o clock at this rate!” Doyle frowned at the size of his drink.

“Can’t handle it?” goaded Bodie, joining him on the sofa.

Doyle bristled. “Didn’t say that, did I? Just not in the mood for a bloody drinking competition… We’ve got to work tomorrow, you know!”

“Yeah, not likely to forget, am I? So in the meantime, why not let our hair down, eh?” Bodie raised his glass in salute and smiled, a glint in his eye.

“I know I’m going to regret this,” grumbled Doyle, before returning the gesture and downing some of the amber fluid. “Just get the Chinese in, mate, I don’t want to pass out on an empty stomach.”

oOo

Two hours, some Sweet & Sour and several drinks later, they were both slumped back on the sofa watching 'The Motor Show' on the telly.

Doyle was feeling nicely warm and mellow, floating comfortably on the other side of sobriety. “Glad we didn’t go out tonight,” he said, thinking out loud. “Easier staying in, isn’t it?” He frowned to himself. “Must be getting old.” He turned to Bodie, who was gazing at the TV as a Porsche was put through its paces. “Why couldn't the girls make it, anyway?”

“Eh?”

“Louise and Jane... remember?”

“Oh, yeah... they've got flu,” Bodie replied, still looking at the telly.

“Both of 'em?”

Bodie nodded.

“Shame that.”

Bodie turned to look at him. “My company not enough for you?”

Doyle returned his gaze. “Course it is, mate,” he said warmly with a big smile and patted Bodie’s thigh. “Mind you... there would be certain perks if the girls were here, wouldn't there?” He raised his eyebrows knowingly.

Bodie looked at him blankly.

“Don't be dense, Bodie!”

Still Bodie didn't say anything and in his whisky-hazed mind Doyle felt obliged to spell it out. “You can shag a bird, can't you?”

“So?”

“So... you can't... well, that is... you can't... shag your mates,” Doyle finished weakly, wishing he'd never started along this line of conversation.

“Try me.”

Doyle suddenly realised he must be far more drunk than he'd thought, as he was hearing things now. “What’s that, mate?” he croaked.

“I said, 'try me',” Bodie answered, deadly serious.

The hairs on the back of Doyle's neck stood up and he instantly felt stone cold sober. Was this a joke? Was Bodie trying to trick him?

Bodie seemed to take Doyle's stunned silence as reticence. “If you want to,” he added, sounding slightly less confident.

Doyle swallowed. It was a trick, it had to be a trick. “Not sure what you mean.”

“Leave off, Doyle, now who’s playing dense!” said Bodie exasperated.

“Since when did you… you know… with blokes?”

Bodie sighed with impatience. “Since one time in the school bogs, when me and a mate were skiving off maths and started messing about. Look, if you don’t want to-”

“I _do_ want to! Didn't know _you_ wanted to!”

“Why d’you think I was poncing about in those bloody trunks today... all me goods on display and you hardly noticed!”

“Course I noticed...” Doyle assured him. “The whole beach noticed!”

“You fell asleep!” Bodie accused.

“I was knackered... Hang on, is that why you were in a mood?” Doyle struggled not to laugh as realisation dawned. “You thought your assets weren't being appreciated?”

Bodie glared at him.

“Oh, but they were appreciated all right,” Doyle grinned. “Why d’you think I spent fifteen minutes in the freezing sea? Wasn't admiring the plankton, was I?”

“You mean-?”

“Yes!”

“So why didn't you say something?”

“What exactly should I have said? 'Sorry Bodie, I’m getting a bit of a semi, what with you lying there practically starkers, so I’m just going to jump in the sea before it gets out of hand'...”

“Doyle?”

“What?”

“Shut up and come ‘ere.” Bodie wrapped his arms around Doyle and pulled him close, so their lips were just a couple of inches apart. Doyle’s gaze flitted over Bodie’s face before giving in to the lure of that luscious pout and kissing him hard, melting into a long, passionate exploration of his partner’s mouth.

Doyle eventually broke the kiss. “Think we should move things into the bedroom, before it’s too late.”

“Whatever you say,” Bodie replied breathlessly between kisses, making no effort to move or release Doyle.

“Bodie...” Doyle managed, in-between gasps as his neck was licked and sucked. “I want you naked, in bed, now!”

Bodie briefly nibbled Doyle’s earlobe, before sitting up. “You always this demanding when you're horny?”

“You complaining?” Doyle struggled up from the sofa and grabbing Bodie's wrist, hauled him up too.

“Just curious,” said Bodie, starting to undo the buttons of Doyle's shirt, as he was manoeuvred backwards out to the hall and along to the bedroom. “I'm sure I can more than match you in the demanding stakes if I feel like it.”

As Doyle bundled him through the doorway, Bodie pulled the shirt open and ran his hands over Doyle's chest, his thumbs brushing over Doyle’s nipples.

“Christ, Bodie...” Doyle stopped just short of the bed and grabbed Bodie's face in both hands, kissing him fiercely and pressing his hips against his partner's.

Then he started stripping Bodie, desperate to get at the body that had taunted him all day.

He all but ripped apart the shirt buttons in his haste, forcing himself to slow down as he undid Bodie's cords. He wanted to enjoy unwrapping this particular part of Bodie’s anatomy, his fingers brushing over the heat and hardness there. Feeling dizzy with desire, he carefully pulled the pants and trousers down, and Bodie’s engorged cock sprung free. Unable to resist, he slowly ran his tongue up the length of it, causing Bodie to take a shuddering breath and then Doyle pushed him backwards onto the bed, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor.

Ripping off his own clothes as quickly as his impatient fingers would allow, Doyle then slid onto the bed, and straddling Bodie, he proceeded to devour the body laid out before him.

oOo

  


Somehow, Doyle found the energy to crack open his eyes. With great effort he lifted his head and peered down at Bodie, who was sprawled face-down across him. He dropped his head back onto the pillow, wondering why on earth they hadn't done this sooner.

He blindly ran a hand back and forth along Bodie's back, relishing the freedom of touch, and thinking about the day’s events. “Oi. You back in the land of the living yet?”

Bodie gave a muffled grunt.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, shall I?” He carried on stroking Bodie’s back, then running his hand down over a hip where there was a narrow tan line. “Those trunks of yours...”

“Hmmm?”

“Where d'you get them?” Doyle asked casually.

“Selfridges, I think,” came the mumbled reply. “Why?”

“Might get myself a pair...”

Like a shot, Bodie pushed himself up on his arms so that he was glaring down over Doyle. “You bloody well will not!”

“Why not?”

“Not having you parading around with everything on show!” Bodie said firmly.

“What, like you were doing today, you mean?”

“Only wore 'em for your benefit! Had to do something a bit drastic, didn't I, what with you being a bit slow... And they've never let me down yet.”

“I see,” said Doyle, slightly disgruntled, “worn them before to ensnare some poor victim, have you?”

“Well, I might've... once or twice... a long time ago.” Bodie settled back down, lying alongside Doyle, with an arm thrown securely across his chest and a leg bent across his thighs. “Won't need to wear them ever again now though, will I?”

“Oh.” Doyle blinked. “Like that, is it?”

“It had better be,” Bodie warned.

Doyle tried to stop his face breaking into a huge grin. “Yeah, OK. Can't have you frightening the public again in those things, can we... Tell you what though, you can give me a private viewing every now and then.”

Bodie leaned in and kissed him. “You're on.”

The End


End file.
